


blossom

by omgpeachsnapple



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Found Family, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Possessive Sex, Post-Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romantic Fluff, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), no beta we just die, possessive cat boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29315940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgpeachsnapple/pseuds/omgpeachsnapple
Summary: She does poorly at night.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 9
Kudos: 78
Collections: Final Fantasy XIV - Crystal Exarch x WoL Recommendations





	blossom

In truth, you were always crying, weren’t you?

Deep in your heart  
But you were hiding it

That part of you never changed

We have begun our journey together  
It’s all right, it’s all right now; I know that for sure

We have begun to walk, our hands linked  
And this one step we have taken forward will be the moment we change our future

\--

blossom

2021

\--

She does poorly at night. 

G’raha Tia can hear her in the Rising Stones’ halls during the rare evenings Tataru or Krile can force her to take a night to rest. Twice, after he had been restored to himself on the Source, he opened his door and watched Alphinaud slip into her room. It does give him a bit of relief to know she is comforted, but G’raha does wish he was the one to be there for her instead. But he knows how dear she is to the boy, that they have ever been the constants in each other’s lives, each other’s rocks when there had been no one else, cast out and reviled. They are very much family, and he envies the strength of their bond. If anyone can offer her a measure of peace, it should be him, her beloved almost brother. G’raha has no right to intrude when he is no one compared to her adopted family.

So it is to his great surprise when the young Elezen pops into G’raha’s quarters late one night.

“Ah,” Alphinaud remarks, “You _are_ still awake.”

“I find myself rather uninterested in sleep,” G’raha smiles and sets his heavy book down. “I have had quite enough for several lifetimes.”

“Indeed.” Alphinaud seems cheerful enough, but he fidgets anxiously. G’raha sits up, hauling his legs over the side of his bed, his bare feet protesting the touch of the cool floor, curious at the state of the boy.

“What can I do for you, my friend?” he asks as Alphinaud gingerly sits beside him.

“I thought I might ask a favor,” Alphinaud says, frowning at his hands. G’raha’s ears perk up in interest; he was always eager to help the – _his fellow_ – Scions.

“Of course,” he chirps, “How may I be of assistance?”

The cause for Alphinaud’s apprehensive state is made quite clear upon his answer.

“She isn’t sleeping. Again. And far be it from me to tell the Warrior of Light how to care for herself, but I thought she might listen to you.”

G’raha Tia stares blankly at him.

“Why _me_? Of anyone, you are her family, she would listen to you—”

“You are better suited for this task than I, my friend,” Alphinaud attempts a smile and falters. “The love she bears for you is … different.”

G’raha’s heart skips several worrying beats; he can feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck, his tail twitching in agitation.

“Ah,” His tongue feels heavy, his mouth feels dry, and he feels very, very giddy.

The silver-haired Elezen takes no notice, however, as he lets out a frustrated cry.

“Ever have I sought to be her anchor, but now she is adrift, and I cannot—” Alphinaud’s hands curl into fists in his lap, a distressed shudder running through him. “I am failing her. How can I call myself her friend? Her brother?”

For all his time spent as the Exarch, it is easy to push aside his own insecurities, to clamp down on his tumultuous feelings for their Warrior, as he gently places a hand on Alphinaud’s shoulder.

“Do not doubt yourself, my friend. You can never fail her with a dedication as fierce as yours.” He is relieved when his voice comes out steady and patient.

“Have heart. I shall look after our precious friend.”

It makes him nervous when she leaves the Rising Stones, knowing she was out there somewhere hurting, but she does make a point to stay close. She wants to keep an eye on G’raha and how he’s adjusting, she tells them. He flushes a little too deeply at her concern, much to the amusement of the other Scions. Alphinaud tells him she doesn’t go back to her cottage in the Shroud. He imagines it to be too quiet, too far from her father in Ishgard and the Scions in Mor Dhona. She wants to be near her loved ones, even if she won’t admit to needing them. She thinks that will make her seem weak, less of a hero. G’raha thinks of the stories told in the averted future, thinks of how he himself used to imagine her as above such things as uncertainty and loneliness, and feels a rush of guilt. Vaunted hero, she might be, but in the end, she is still just a person. A person who has lost much, who lost what might have been a peaceful resolution in Amaurot, who always feared the loss of her precious companions.

It is with these thoughts in mind that he gently opens her door. He hears a deep, tired sigh as he enters.

“I know you worry, my dearest Alphina—” she cuts herself off, the rest of the sentence failing her as she blinks at G’raha. She smiles.

“Forgive me,” she says with a duck of her head, looking mildly embarrassed. “I thought … well, you know.” She gestures helplessly with one hand.

“No need,” he replies, straining to keep his voice amiable, but a strap from her camisole has fallen down her shoulder. A wholly inappropriate stirring in his trousers has him shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the next.

“It was Alphinaud who bid me check on you,” he adds, and this time his voice wavers just a little.

“It’s unnecessary, and I don’t wish to trouble you,” she replies, with a small frown. But she brings her knees to her chest, allowing him space despite her words.

“Come now,” he smiles gently, hesitantly sitting on the bed, “Though I may no longer be Exarch, I still take all matters brought to me quite seriously.”

He determinedly shoves away the dark desire to pin her underneath him, to distract her in all the untoward ways of his fantasies; she was a cherished friend, someone dear to his heart. And he is partially to blame for some of her grief. He had hoped Her blessing would be enough, but he had caused her undue, immense pain in the end. And he will bear that guilt until the end of his days. So he braces himself; now is not the time for selfish wants, for undeserved hopes of reciprocated desire. She needs him, said Alphinaud, and he will never deny her. He never could.

He runs a gentle hand over her knee, capturing her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. Once the dark grey of stone and ash, her skin is now a pale, smooth silver, her light seared hair a permanent shock of white. There were some corruptions even the Warrior of Light could not heal.

A surge of shame rushes through him as he squeezes her fingers.

“I must apologize-“

In a fluid, feline movement, she sits up quickly, resting on her calves, and presses a finger to his lips to hush him. He flushes at her touch; it had so much easier to hide his thoughts as the Exarch, so much easier to keep his heart hidden in the depths of his cowl instead of having his every feeling written blatantly across his face.

Much easier to be a coward, he scolds himself, masking behind glamours and mysteries.

“I was very angry with you,” she admits softly. “Angry you lied, angry you kept secrets. Angry you knew what might happen to me and still went through with your plan anyway. Angry that you were to die and there was naught I could do.”

He flinches as she speaks as though struck by a thorned whip. She sighs, a smile gracing her pretty pink lips, tangling their fingers together.

“But when I saw you in Amaurot, all I could think was of how relieved I was, how happy to be reunited with such a beloved friend. I missed you, G’raha Tia.”

She hesitates very briefly before she haltingly adds, “I … should not like to be separated from you like that again.”

This is worse, somehow. He can endure her resentment, her contempt but not her forgiveness. This admission of vulnerability, the trust she is placing in him, yet again. That, he does not deserve, and it overwhelms him. He buries his face in his hands, and she plucks them away, resting his hands on her legs. With the warmth of her skin, the feel of her under his fingers, he takes in a shuddering breath.

“I believe it was I who was supposed to be reassuring you,” he says wryly and she laughs.

“I suppose you are,” she shrugs. She rises to her knees, leaning toward him. He watches her, his heart hammering in his chest, feeling his nerves fray. She is a star, glittering so brightly it almost hurts; the radiance of her closeness, the intensity of her focus all but too much to bear, and his every thought falters. Her strap has fallen again, the neckline of her camisole dangerously low. So much skin is exposed, so much he wants to run his hands over, worship with his lips. He grasps the band and is struck by the mad urge to rip it down, rip the whole damned thing off of her; he swallows the thought, putting the strip of fabric back in its proper place, but he lets his fingers linger. Gods, he is wracked by remorse and lust and absolute adoration.

She is so close now, too close, her nose brushing against his; he can see her pale eyes flicker down, and he runs his tongue along his lips. He can feel the heat of her breath on him, smell the tantalizing scent of cinnamon and tea and spilled ink. It would be such a simple thing to cross the line he has set for himself, to step over that boundary and touch his lips to her, to begin a dance he had been envisaging since first she spoke to him.

And yet, he does not, he dares not.

But she has ever been the bolder of the two.

“Forgive me this liberty.”

Her whisper is so quiet, so gentle he thinks he might have imagined it. And then he feels it, the softness of her lips against his, the briefest brush before he can no longer think, before his mind goes blank. He crushes his mouth to hers, breathing in her little gasp of pleasure. He eagerly draws her into his lap; she cradles his face in her hands, her kiss impatient, desperate, as though she fears he will dissolve through her fingers like a marvelous dream when she wakes. He holds her tight against him, pressing her to him, and he revels in the feeling of the swell of her breasts against his chest. His hands run along the silky silver skin of her back, up until he grips the tangle of her hair. She shifts her hips ever so slightly, and a groan escapes his throat, eliciting a returning moan from her. 

The sound causes him to come careening back to himself. He grasps her shoulders, and it takes all his considerable willpower to extract himself from her.

“I don’t … “ he fumbles, struggling to find both breath and words, “You need not settle. There must be someone else more worthy of your attention.”

“No,” she replies bluntly, withdrawing and folding her arms over her chest. “I despaired when you went into the Tower. I thought I had lost my chance at love –”

She cuts herself off, a blush spreading over her cheeks and chest.

“Of all people, why me?” His voice comes out in a plea, as though he is desperate to make her see how wrong she is. 

“Why not you?” she counters, and she seems cross now. “Who would not love someone so good and kind, as brave and selfless as you. To see you again, to be reunited with you. I have never put much store by way of faith, but I wished that maybe Halone herself had seen me fit to be blessed with something for _myself_ , for once.”

He takes in a shaky breath as she speaks, noticing that she too is trembling. She bites her lower lip, and her expression is full of such _hope_ , her eyes dark with such desire, such longing that he feels he is peering into his own mind.

“For you to speak these lovely words … I never dared indulge such fantasies.” His voice is hushed, awed. If this is indeed a dream, let him never wake.

For so long, he had thought of her as untouchable, as unreachable as the sun. She belonged to everyone, the great savior of the world, and no one. He had no claim, no _right_.

Yet here she is and he cannot work his mind around her words. 

“And … I am not imagining this?” he asks her, reeling from her confessions; she had said she loved him and he is simply unable to comprehend the reality of it. 

She pinches him in reply, her expression mischievous.

“No more concealments, Raha,” she says, smiling despite her quiet voice. And the spark he fought to stifle, to contain deep in the corners of his heart, erupts into a roaring fire that incites his very blood. He pulls her back to him, unable to hold back any longer, and he is not gentle as he dominates her mouth. He will conquer her, set his mark on her that all who look upon her will know she is his and his alone.

There’s nothing particularly beautiful about the way they kiss each other, all teeth and greed, the absolute hunger that comes from years of suppressed wants and needs. Years of loss, of love, of affection, buried out of duty, out of fear.

He holds her by the waist and flips her onto the bed. She lets out a breathless laugh as she lands; his returning smile is so achingly sweet it momentarily overwhelms her.

Once, the adoration he had showered upon her had intimidated her. The Warrior of Light and Darkness she might be but the pedestal he had placed her upon … she had feared she would never live up to his standards once he knew her, that all his devotion and care would fade and the only man she had dared to want would turn his back on her.

And yet, here he is, full lips parted in wonder as he studies her face. He knows her, had come to her when she struggled, and still, still, he looked upon her with a reverence so pure and true it leaves her winded.

She would never be worthy of such a lovely, loving man.

She kisses him again, slow and languid as he settles himself between her legs. She can feel him, feel his desire pressing against her, and it leaves her fraught with little else but frantic need of him. She clutches at him, wriggling her hips to feel more of him against her; he growls darkly in his throat as his hands find her camisole and rip the thing in half, tossing the ruined remains over his shoulder. He does the same with her smalls, and she wants to regret the ruin of her clothing, but all she can think about is how unfair it is that she is naked and he is not, that she cannot run her hands along his clear skin; sunkissed and freckled from his sparing bouts with the other Scions.

Leaning back over her, he takes her face in his hands and brushes his lips lightly over each eyelid. He kisses the tip of her nose before he slides his lips over hers in a brief, deep kiss. She whines a little when his lips leave hers, and G’raha laughs as he trails kisses down her neck. She shivers, his warm breath leaving goosebumps as her heart races in delicate, restless beats, as he continues down the rest of her body.

“How many years have I imagined this,” he says softly, lightly grazing his lips against her stomach, “have I craved such an impossible dream.”

He kisses the inside of her thigh, and the shock of his intentions has her struggling to sit up. Such an act had never occurred to her before.

“Oh –”

He hums against her other thigh, gently bidding her lay back by pushing lightly on her stomach.

“I have spent well over a century wondering at the taste of you,” he purrs; her stomach twists in anticipation and anxiety, and her reservations are promptly wiped from her mind as his tongue lays claim to her. She clasps a hand to her mouth as a sob escapes her. He grasps her hips, drawing her to her him as his confidence rises, encouraged by her soft sighs. His tongue is thorough as it explores her; she can feel herself coiling, building toward her edge, and when she is undone, there is nothing but stars and colors as she bites down on her fist to keep from crying out.

He looks delighted with himself as he comes off her, his broad smile full of pride and satisfaction, the expression of a young boy who has been handed the perfect Starlight gift.

“You needn’t be uncomfortable,” he tells her gently, quickly stripping himself. “In all my long years, never have I beheld such an exquisite, wonderous creature such as yourself. You are beyond words, my love.”

She had known he was fond of her, but this, this complete expression of affection, leaves her voiceless, astounded. He lays himself atop her, using his arms to prop himself up, and caresses her brow. She touches his cheek as he pulls back before letting her fingers run along his lips, tracing them with a featherlight touch; his breath hitches, his pupils blown wide as he gazes down at her.

“I should have said something sooner. Perhaps before—” she starts.

He silences her with a brusque kiss.

“We are here now. The time for regrets is passed,” G’raha says firmly. “I promise you, everything is as it should be.”

She flashes a blindingly charming smile at him before she seizes him, kissing him with all the rampant, blazing passion in her heart. She can feel him at her entrance, and she reaches down to grasp the hardened length of him.

“Ah,” he hisses, staying her hand. “There will be time enough for that later. For now, my patience has worn quite thin.”

She sucks in a breath as he slips inside her; she parts like an exotic flower for him, all soft, velvet heat, and he whispers her name against her shoulder as he hilts himself entirely inside her. It was a dizzying feeling to be so entirely joined with the one most precious to you. 

“You will only ever be mine,” he murmurs roughly against her lips, driving into her again. “ _Mine_.”

She moans her consent as he begins to move ruthlessly within her, his kiss deepening as she wraps her legs around him, bringing his chest to hers, reveling in the feeling of their sweat-slicked skin running together. Her nails run down his back so harshly she thinks they might leave marks, but he doesn’t appear to take notice. He is focused entirely on her, letting his hands freely explore every bit of her they can reach until he finds her clit and swirls his fingers over it. He swallows her whimpers as her climax overtakes her, his hips snapping, unrelenting. He meant to take her absolutely, completely until she is pliant and exhausted and knew nothing but him.

Until she calls out his name, and he cannot help but lose himself at the sound of it. It is the most exquisite, gratifying thing, and he buries his face into the crook of her neck as he finishes inside her.

When he raises his head, her crystal blue eyes are glittering as she watches him.

“I have no intention of forsaking you,” he informs her, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. She nods, her eyes still locked on his, threading her fingers tightly through his.

“I have no intention of letting you,” she replies, and his lips quirk into a slight smile; he makes no effort to lift himself off her.

“Worry not, my love. I shall spend my days by your side, and I shall keep you safe from all things. This new future is ours.”


End file.
